Demon Blood: A Demon Soul Prequel (The Caine Brothers) by Christine Ashworth Page A

far too long since someone looked like he knew what he was doing…and he certainly did.
    His eyes were startlingly blue, set in a sculpted brown face with high cheekbones and a well-defined chin that had a hint of a cleft in it. Brown dreadlocks were tied back with a strip of leather. He wasn’t smiling.
    “You are?”
    She swallowed. “Marie-Therese Gosse, from Lyons. I’m here to learn. There is much I don’t know, and incidents of demon incursions in France are growing. We beat back an incursion in Provence recently, and the one who closed the portal to the Chaos world died, taking his knowledge with him into death. I need that knowledge. France needs that knowledge.”
    “Ask the Council of the Fae.”
    “The Council hasn’t been communicating with anyone.”
    He stared at her. Silence lengthened between them until he moved abruptly toward the shore. “Bunch of meddling aristocrats. So they aren’t communicating? Why are you here?”
    She walked along with him. “Warrior I may try to be, but there is much I need to learn, and how to close a portal to the Chaos Plane is a priority. Word has it that your family is the one to learn from. That before you all split up, there was a major incident, and several portals were closed.”
    “Four.”
    “So you do know how.”
    “I know.” His face grew a bit harder. “Wait here. I need to clean up.”
    Before she could react, he’d sprinted to the water, waded in waist deep, and splashed that magnificent chest of his clean.
    She followed, drawn by his charisma, unable to do otherwise, almost as though there were a string connecting them—he moved, she moved—she frowned at the thought.
    He came back toward her and she took an involuntary step backward. Striding easily through the waves, his jogging pants soaked and the blood washed away, for a moment she felt as though she were his prey, locked in his sights, for his gaze didn’t waver from her.
    Well, merde. This was ridiculous. They were both part Fae. They were on the same side. Weren’t they?
    He stopped in front of her. “So the Council won’t train you.”
    “They aren’t there to talk to. No one has had contact in several years.” She met his burning gaze.
    “Damn isolationist fools.” He shook his head. “Let’s run. I go to the next pier before turning around. I take it you came from the stone steps?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Good. You set the pace. You sound American, not French.”
    They set out southward. “I spent my first fifteen years in New York City before moving with my family to Lyons. My mother used to work with the Fae there. I grew up bilingual.”
    He grunted in answer.
    Marie-Therese sighed. “You don’t want me here.”
    “I am not the only person to have closed a Portal in the world. Yet you chose to come all this way, to me. Which makes me wonder why.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you running away from a potential mate? Will I have an enraged lover shedding mating threads on my doorstep soon?”
    “No, no enraged lover or mate-to-be.” She sent him an irritated glare. “I am not looking for a mate. Sex, yes. Happy ever after, no.” Damn it. Another decade or two would be plenty of time for her to settle down. She had things to do, the world to see, before resigning herself to a mating bond that lasted beyond death.
    “Sex is good.” He elbowed her gently, and she chuckled.
    “ Oui. Le sexe est bon.”
    “Je l'aime quand vous parlez français. ”
    “You speak my native language.” It warmed her heart that he would let her know. “I love it when you speak French, as well.”
    A congenial silence fell between them, and Marie-Therese indulged in a few harmless fantasies.
    They ran to the next pier, then as one turned around and came back. The miles flew beneath their feet, but the farther north they went, she grew uneasy. She was forgetting something, bon sang.
    As they drew closer to the Santa Monica pier, her feet slowed and dread rode her back. Gideon slowed